


Stories Untold

by randomostrichchocolates, Styx_in_the_mud



Series: Chance Encounters [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Gen, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, One Shot Collection, Soris is tougher than we give him credit for, Tabris just wanted to be happy.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-01 01:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10911096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomostrichchocolates/pseuds/randomostrichchocolates, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Styx_in_the_mud/pseuds/Styx_in_the_mud
Summary: A collection of side stories surrounding our Chance Encounters series. This will include multiple characters from DA:O and DA2 at different points.





	1. Second of Second; First of His Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Aeducan struggles to find a competent Second who isn't dying from old age or scheming to kill her. Endrin thinks she's incredibly melodramatic.

"You asked to see me, Father?" Sereda knew what this was about, but she preferred to play dumb. It had become second instinct at this point, and men loved believing that they were smarter than any woman who spoke to them, so they often revealed more.

"You know what this is about." King Endrin said, because Sereda never once fooled him. Her father had once said she had her mother's diplomatic ability, but had the same telling twinkle in her eyes when she knew she was trying to manipulate someone. Sereda practiced lying in the mirror to herself for years trying to get rid of that twinkle, but could never spot quite what her father meant.

Sereda sighed. "I -"

"You need more time?" Endrin replied, raising an eyebrow. "Or what excuse was it last time? 'I haven't had the chance'? 'It's difficult to choose someone'?" Sereda scowled. "I've had enough. I have decided to assign you a Second."

"Father, you can't!" Sereda blurted out, her voice sounding childish and whiney even to herself. She might only be seventeen, but she prided herself on seeming older and more experienced than she was. "Having a trustworthy Second is more important than having a trustworthy spouse, it's not like picking out a nice necklace in a market stall."

"And have I not given you plenty of time to choose whomever you deem worthy?" Sereda looked at the ground petulantly. "It's not even common for the noble to choose their own Second, I only allowed it because you requested such. I assigned Ser Blackstone to Trian myself." Endrin scratched at his beard lightly.

"Yes, and Ser Blackstone hasn't enough common sense to kill a pig before he roasts it." Sereda sniped. "And Trian likes anyone who sticks around to praise his every word."

Endrin's gaze hardened a bit. "Ser Blackstone is an experienced solider, nonetheless, and has served your brother well." he sighed, one hand going up rub at his forehead. "Sereda, I have given you due time to find someone yourself, and you have not. That is not my fault."

Sereda grumbled and fought the urge to kick at the ground because that was not proper. "I don't want to be stuck with someone who's incompetent, Father." she frowned at the king.

"You need to have a Second, or I cannot send you on missions befitting your noble station. Here is what's going to happen." Endrin said, in the voice he used when speaking at trials or talking to particularly irritating envoys to the court. Sereda had heard this tone of voice often directed at her, and wondered yet again if being her father's favorite child (as the court loved to whisper) came with the added burden of being the one most likely to disappoint him. "I will assign you a Second. However, I will allow you the ability to reject someone I assign you within a week, provided you have good reason. If a week passes and you do not have good cause, they will be knighted and installed permanently in the court."

Sereda sighed. After a long moment of silence, she asked "What constitutes good reason?"

"Poor fighting ability or a reason to doubt their loyalty and dedication to your life." said Endrin.

Sereda nodded. "It seems fair enough."

"Good," Endrin said with a small smile. "Because it was not up for debate."

***

"I am Douvan, my lady. Your father sent me."

"Ah," Sereda said, eyeing the armored dwarf up and down. He seemed competent, if a little young to be someone's Second. The man barely looked old enough to have been through proper training. "So, you're the first one." The dwarf opened his mouth to reply but Sereda cut him off. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Fifteen, my lady." he said, seeming proud of the admission.

 _Ancestors, help me_ , Sereda thought to herself.

***

"I reject him." Sereda said to her father with a growl. Douvan stood next to her, trying to cower and possibly melt into the ground.

Endrin merely looked tired. "Already? It has been three days."

Sereda glared at the boy standing next to her. "We went on an expedition to a nearby thaig, and were attacked by a large horde of darkspawn while using a side tunnel. After me and my men fought them off, I found _him_ hiding behind a large boulder."

Endrin sighed and waved at the guards to take Douvan away.

"Do try to at least send me someone older than I am, next time." Sereda said as she walked, without being dismissed.

***

Yurlin would have been a fine soldier, if he wasn't so old that he moved at the speed of a slug. He told her that he had helped _train_ Paragon Branka and had _known her grandmother_.

After the man almost died during an expedition because his knee gave out suddenly, Endrin bitterly sent him away.

***

It became something of a pattern. The King would assign a man (or, occasionally, a woman) to the Princess, and inevitably, the Princess would reject them. Only two people had made it past even Day Five by now. The first was a dagger wielding rogue who the Princess had been quite fond of, until she turned out to be reading Lady Aeducan's journals. The second was an older man, who had seemed a strong warrior, if a bit arrogant and dull in conversation. The Princess had reluctantly had no complaints to give about the man until Day Seven, where the man seemed to get ahead of himself and attempted to make an inappropriate pass at the Princess.

King Endrin's wrath had been unparalleled, but there was not much more he needed to do, as Lady Aeducan had sufficiently punished the man for trying to force himself on her, if the bruises were any indication. Nevertheless, he was stripped of his titles and struck from the record books and branded as casteless.

Most interestingly, people had started becoming afraid to take the position of Second and the King was becoming increasingly frustrated with the whole plan.

***

"What did you _say_ to her?" King Endrin asked in exasperation.

"Nothing!" Sereda protested. "I was merely asking her a few questions, and she burst into tears and ran out."

"Is asking her questions code for interrogating her?" Bhelen asked, with a raised eyebrow. They were in the palace dining hall, having a family dinner that no one had had the time for recently. Bhelen sat next to her and ducked his head as she turned to glare at him.

Trian, who sat across from her at the table, snorted. "Maybe she was frightened by your complete lack of etiquette for a noble." he said. Sereda attempted to kick his shin but missed and hit a chair leg instead. Trian glared. "Like I said," he said pointedly.

"I'll have you know that the deshyrs of the court are more charmed by one meeting with me than a lifetime of dealing with you." Sereda's brothers were interesting. There was Trian, the oldest, the heir, who she had spent most of her childhood idolizing. Trian had been everything she looked up to in a big brother, and part of the reason she had taken up sword fighting in the first place. And at first, Trian had loved her too, giving Sereda her first sword, helping her train, teaching her how to work the court. And then, their mother had died, and their father changed. It was as if their father had suddenly realized how fast death could take anyone and began priming his children in case the worst was to happen, starting with pitting them against each other, constantly placing Trian and Sereda in competitions of fighting prowess, in wit, in diplomacy.

Trian had not let it get to him at first, until Sereda had knocked him down during a fight one day and forced him to yield. Until she had convinced a deshyr to vote on their side when he could not. And slowly, Trian began to see her as a threat, and with insecurity, came hate.

Bhelen, on the other hand, had never been a part of their father's games, which Sereda thought made him lucky. Perhaps Endrin never believed he could lose his own life, as well as both his heirs, but the thought of Bhelen needing to rule never seemed to cross his mind. Bhelen was definitely Sereda's favorite brother, now, her distance from Trian making her relationship with her younger brother much stronger. Bhelen, the third, the forever overlooked, sometimes seemed put out by their father's lack of regard, but had recently learned to get past it.

Endrin, who sat at the head of the table, just sighed heavily. "I don't know how you manage to keep doing this."

"Didn't you know, Father," Trian said "annoying people is Sereda's number one talent."

"I learned from the best." Sereda said meeting her brother's eyes in challenge. Trian scowled. _1-0 to me_ , she thought to herself.

"Enough," Endrin said. "Will you two ever learn to get along?"

"Impossible," she said, as Trian said "Maybe when I'm dead."

Sereda gave her brother a bored face, and turned to look at her father. "It's okay if one brother hates me, Father. Bhelen's the better one, anyway."

***

Sereda walked out of her chambers, only to crash headfirst into a dwarf who had been poised to knock on the door.

" _Ow_ ," she rubbed at her forehead, leaning back against the door frame, the man she had crashed into had stumbled backwards. "Watch where you're going!" she exclaimed, finally eyeing the man in front of her with a frown.

The dwarf was taller than her, even if he was slightly bent over and rubbing at his head right now. His full ginger beard was worn in a style similar to Ser Blackstone except much more suited to his face. His hair was long, extending past his ears and the front was pulled back and braided so as to keep it away from his face. Sereda, admittedly, had always thought red hair of that shade was attractive, but she shook those thoughts away. "I could say the same to you," the man said roughly, finally straightening up to look at her. "I'm not the one barging out of my room without looking down. I know I'm Warrior Caste, but I do actually exist."

Sereda flushed, many emotions responding to the cheek he had just given her (her! the princess!) before deciding to respond with an arrogance that Trian would be jealous of. "And just who are _you_?" her chin tilted up, putting on airs of being above this conversation.

"Gorim Saelac, my lady." The dwarf bowed and Sereda was _almost sure_ she wasn't imagining the sarcasm behind the title. "I'm your new Second."

***

"The Princess?!" Gorim had yelped when his father told him. "She eats Seconds for breakfast!"

"Tall tales, son." his father said. "Besides, this is your opportunity to help House Saelac _be_ something."

"At the risk of my life?"

"Stop being dramatic, Gorim." his father said with a grimace. "And you're my only son. You are the only one who can help House Saelac, now." his father sighed. "We are not... quite what we used to be."

"I've heard she's arrogant." Gorim whined. "And mean."

"You're the best warrior I know, son." his father's eyes twinkled a bit. "Surely you can handle a seventeen year old princess."

Gorim sighed, rubbing at his temples with his hands. Finally, after an eternity, he looked up at his father. "Alright," he said. "Tell King Endrin I'll accept."

"Great! You start tomorrow." Gorim groaned.

***

 _He had been wrong_ , Gorim thought as Lady Aeducan pressed forward with her greatsword with a terrifying ferocity. _Nothing was worth this_.

The Princess fought with an intensity that made Gorim genuinely fear for his life. The only plus side of the entire thing was that Gorim's weapon and shield fighting style was much faster than her brute force technique. He might not have been able to compete against her strength, but he did have speed and strategy on his side.

She swung again, and Gorim just nearly dodged the blow, hitting the sword to the side with his shield. He could tell that he was wearing her down, if the sheen of sweat near her hairline was any evidence. After what seemed like forever, Gorim began to gain the advantage, pushing the tiring Princess Aeducan further back, until, with a final push of his shield, he had knocked her to the ground, his sword poised at her neck.

"Yield, my lady." he said firmly. Lady Aeducan looked angry and impressed at the same time. She stared at Gorim and he repeated himself. "Yield."

She opened her mouth and Gorim relaxed slightly, which was his downfall. "No," Lady Aeducan said and her foot swept across the ground, jerking Gorim's leg forward. He fell to the ground hard and hissed in pain, opening his eyes to find the princess holding her sword at his neck. "Yield," she said in the same tone of voice he had used and Gorim could swear she was mocking him. Her knees were being used to press down on his legs so he couldn't use the same trick she had.

"Fine," he spat. "I yield." Instantly, the princess got to her feet, throwing her sword to the ground. She looked like she was about to say something, which was odd given that Lady Aeducan seemed to avoid talking to him for the past four days, but eventually she closed her mouth and walked out of the room without a second glance.

Gorim sighed. He had hoped, if not best friends, they could be somewhat civil to each other but Lady Aeducan seemed to determined to ignore his very presence. He got to his feet and smoothed his beard out. Perhaps tomorrow's excursion into the Deep Roads would help the princess to stop looking at him like a particularly disgusting nug she had seen on the floor.

***

The genlock made a screeching noise as it charged. Lady Aeducan's back was turned and Gorim looked over from where he had just knocked a hurlock to the ground. The genlock was headed straight towards her and Gorim did not think before running. He threw himself in the path of the darkspawn, narrowly avoiding the thing's mouth as he carved a large chunk out of its neck.

He turned to see Lady Aeducan looking at him in wonder and... something else that he couldn't define. But there was no time to dwell on it as he saw an arrow fly past his head.

***

If Sereda was cold to Gorim as they made their way back to the Palace, it shouldn't be held against her. She was working through a lot of emotions that she did not know what to do with, with Gorim being the source of all of them. It was Day Five and he... had saved her life. She could feel Gorim's stare boring into the back of her skull as they entered the Palace and made their way to her chambers.

She opened the doors and didn't turn to look at him as she bit out "You're dismissed, Gorim."

There was a beat of silence before Gorim said "No," and closed the door to her room behind him.

She whipped around. "I said, you're dismissed." she gave him a glare she had perfected to make deshyrs wither. Gorim barely flinched.

"And I said, no." Gorim snapped. "Tell me what your problem is."

"Need I remind you that I am the princess?" Sereda asked, trying to make her eyes harder.

Gorim scowled. "Of course not, my lady." There was that sarcasm again, she was sure of it this time. "But since you want me kicked out anyway, what's the harm in knowing what in the Ancestors your problem is?" Gorim's voice rose as he reached the end of his sentence, and Sereda wondered if her guards could hear this.

"I don't-" she started to say but Gorim cut her off.

"I saved your life today!" Gorim almost yelled. "I saved your life and yet you still look like I'm some burden you've been stuck with." he glared at her. "News flash, princess, not everyone is actually out to get you."

"I don't need to justify myself to you." her voice was ice. "You are my Second, not my confidant." she turned around so that she would not have to face him.

"I want to know for when you tell King Endrin that you reject me." His voice had quieted but the anger was still present. "What is your problem with me?"

"Nothing!" Sereda snapped, turning back to look at him. Her words were sharp, but the bite of anger had died. "I... I have no problem with you and that's my problem." she admitted with a scowl. "Turns out, you're perfect, Gorim."

Gorim looked stunned, as if he hadn't expected that answer. The clear confusion in his face was amusing. "My lady, what-"

"I'm... not very good at trusting people." she said with a resigned sigh, sitting down on her bed heavily. "Father has forced me to take on a Second for _safety_ ," the last word was said skeptically as if she didn't believe it. "But until now, I've always had a good reason to..." she made a vague movement of her hand.

"To reject them?" Gorim offered and Sereda nodded.

"I don't trust you, either." Sereda said, meeting Gorim's eyes. "But I have no reason to reject you and it's frustrating."

Gorim frowned and she looked away, wondering what had made her be so honest with the warrior. Suddenly, she felt the weight shifting on her bed and looked up in surprise to see Gorim taking a seat next to her. _Now, this is definitely improper_ , she thought.

"My lady," he started and Sereda thought that was the first time he had said it without the mockery behind the title. "House Saelac belongs solely to my dad, as his only siblings are sisters. And I am his only son. He sent me here to... make something of myself." Gorim smiled ruefully. "Bring honor to our house and all that rot."

Sereda raised an eyebrow at him. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Well," he said "It wouldn't really be in my best interests to betray you given that being your Second is the best position I can get to bring my house to a higher status."

Sereda gave him a considering look. "And if someone offered something higher?" she asked.

He smirked. "But how would they win me over without your charm and beauty, my lady?"

Sereda snorted. "Flattery, cheap flattery." she said.

"But did it work?"

"Hardly,"

"So, it _did_ work a little bit." he grinned.

She shoved him off the bed. "You're dismissed, Gorim."

"Goodnight, my lady." he smiled, as he bowed and left the room.

***

Day Eight, and the castle was abuzz with whispers. Whispers about the first person to make it through the week of being Lady Aeducan's Second. After Day Five, things had finally seemed to change. Sereda had finally begun to open up to Gorim, getting slightly more used to the idea of having him as a Second. _At least_ , she thought, _it was better than Ser Blackstone. Or Douvan._

King Endrin looked so relieved on the day of the knighting that Sereda had fought the urge to roll her eyes. As was custom, the noble knighted their own Second in a ceremony, followed by a feast held at the Palace.

There was much pomp and fanfare, but eventually it came down to Gorim kneeling before her, pledging his allegiance and that he would protect her life with his own. Something she could definitely believe after the incident in the Deep Roads. And of course, she pledged her own protection and allegiance to him.

She tapped her greatsword (she had insisted on using it instead of the ceremonial one) on each shoulder. "Arise, Ser Gorim Saelac, First of Your Name."

He arose to cheers, and Sereda stretched out a hand which Gorim grasped in a firm handshake and a large smile.

***

The feast was finishing up, Endrin had dismissed the guests, and people straggled out of the dining hall. Sereda stood near a wall, waiting for all the nobles to clear out before she left herself. She could spot Bhelen and Trian on the far side of the room as well, doing the same. It was custom for Endrin to leave and her and her brothers to stay behind to offer farewells to guests as they left. Appearances to be maintained, of course.

Gorim, the man of the hour, approached her out of the corner of her eye and she looked up at him with a smile. "How was the feast, Ser Gorim?" she asked politely.

"Could have been better if Ser Blackstone hadn't been blabbering in my ear about his favorite types of armor polish." said Gorim.

Sereda laughed. "Welcome to court life. You're going to love it."

Gorim groaned, and then they were silent, standing next to each other, observing the departing crowd. Sereda was possibly too aware of Gorim's presence at her side, and she struggled to keep her focus on giving her farewells.

"'First of Your Name'" Gorim said suddenly, his voice startling her. He leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Is it too late to mention that I have a great grandfather who was named Gorim and was knighted, as well?"

Sereda burst into abrupt giggles that she smothered quickly with a hand. It was probably too late, because she saw many servants look up in shock. Lady Aeducan giggling. Now that was a rumor that would spread fast.

***

Gorim fought well, better than her some days, but he'd yet to "beat" her since that first week. (She acknowledged that in a real fight, Gorim would have killed her before she knocked him down).

And then one day, he was faster, stronger, and Sereda found herself quickly overwhelmed by his fighting. One thing she liked about her Second - he always sought to improve their training by trying new fighting techniques. It helped keep them both sharp.

These guerilla tactics of attack were vastly different from Gorim's usual, more calculated fighting style and despite Sereda's advantage in her weapon strength, it was hard to use her greatsword when her enemy was so close. And then Gorim was using his classic shield push to shove her to the ground, this time making sure to pin her legs down when he put his sword to her neck.

"Do you yield, my lady?" he asked, with a cocky raise of his brow. And all of a sudden, Sereda was aware of how close they were, his arm pressed down on her body, his face leaning over her own. He had been her Second for months now, and they had danced around each other in a weird inbetween where Sereda would not make a move for fear of taking advantage of her subordinate, and Gorim would not make a move for fear of caste differences and being executed by her or her brothers or the King.

 _To Hell with that_ , Sereda thought, as she reached up a hand and pulled Gorim's head down, meeting his lips with hers. She felt Gorim tense up briefly, frozen in shock, before kissing her back just as fiercly, using his free arm to pull her head closer, if possible. Sereda was brought to her senses by Gorim relaxing his arm that held her body down.

She immediately used the lull in his senses and Gorim's own body weight to flip the man over and knock his sword away. She rolled on top and straddled him, smirking at the surprise on his face, the blush that covered his face, the bruise forming on his lips from the kiss. She brought her own sword to his neck. "Never let your guard down, Gorim." she said. And then, because she did not want to get up quite yet, or ask him to yield, she kissed him again, softer this time.

Then she got up and walked out the practice room.

***

How she went from hating Gorim, to liking him, to loving him (though she still had not decided whether she would tell him about the love part), she would never know. Making friends was hard enough as a noble woman in Orzammar, the constant backstabbing and loyalty changes making it difficult to find anything lasting. But if there was anyone she could say that she did trust, it was Gorim.

Gorim, who threw himself in the line of fire for her, who looked at her like he actually cared. She suspected her father knew about the nature of their relationship, and Trian definitely knew, given how often he sneered at her while making snide comments. Bhelen seemed to know but not care, but she was sure his dalliances with casteless girls had made him more understanding about the entire thing.

Then came the day when her life crashed down around her and she lost him.

***

"Lord Harrowmont has also opened up the Provings for young men to test their mettle before tomorrow's battle. Rumor has it that Harrowmont hopes you'll be swept off your feet if a well placed young nobleman wins the Provings in your honor."

"Should we tell him I already have the man I need?"

"Why not? I'll just wear a sign that says 'Assassinate me before Lady Aeducan marries beneath her.'"

***

"What happened here?" Sereda seethed with the urge to choke Bhelen. He was a slimy little rat and she wanted to crush his windpipe. She could see his smug face behind her father and resisted the urge to scream. That would just make her look unstable.

"My Lady Aeducan is innocent!" Gorim cried and Sereda couldn't deny the small knot of relief that unraveled. She trusted Gorim but she had been worried, afraid, of what she would do if he had betrayed her now. But then again, it didn't matter what Gorim said, he was her Second, they would take his loyalty as bias.

And then the scout betrayed her and she wanted to put a knife through his eye. And then Frandlin Ivo, the nasty noble she had given her Proving helmet to, spoke out against her as well and Sereda merely felt helpess.

"Father," she said, her voice determinedly firm. "You _know_ I did not do this."

But her father was too caught up in grief to even look at her.

***

"He must have been planning this for months." she said, bitterly, looking at the straw covered ground of the dungeon cell she was trapped in. She imagined the particular straw piece near her foot was Bhelen's face and crushed him, twisting her foot to turn the straw into paste. "Making deals and alliances all this time." she wondered briefly if Bhelen had ever actually liked her as a sister the way she liked him. Poor Trian. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "You have to respect his ability to play the game at least." she sighed.

"I'm sorry, my lady." Gorim looked torn and sad.

"What's going to happen to you?" she asked, because he had given her her own news first.

"My knighthood will be stripped and I will be struck from my family records." he grimaced. "But I will be allowed to make some sort of life for myself on the surface." he growled. "Harrowmont fought to get the same movement passed for you but..."

"But Bhelen, yes." she sighed.

"I wish I could come with you, my lady. Fight at your side." he moved forward and grabbed one of the bars of the cell.

She smiled. "You're safer this way. I'd rather it be like this." she laughed without humor. "Well, truthfully, I'd rather this not have happened at all."

She rubbed at her eyes, trying to think of the best course of plan to stay alive until she found the grey wardens in the Deep Roads. "My lady," Gorim said, his voice soft and sad. "If you do make it out, come to Denerim, the human city." his grip on the cell bar tightened. "I'll wait for you there and hopefully..." he swallowed. "We shall see each other again."

Sereda placed a hand on top of his. "Yes, we will." her voice sounded more confident than she felt. "I'm not that easy to kill, quite frankly."

Gorim laughed, but it sounded hollow. "I wish you luck, my lady."

And, if anything, this would be the time to tell him. To tell him that she might be starting to fall in love with him, that she would fight to make her way back to him, to ask him to hold her one more time. But she bit down the words. _This was not the time_ , she thought to herself furiously, _because there will be another time_. _Because I need to stay alive to choke Bhelen to death_.

"Farewell, Ser Gorim." she smiled. "First of Your Name."

Gorim laughed, a wonderful sound, something she memorized so that she had something to help her not lose hope when she was in the Deep Roads.

"Farewell, my Princess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie, Gorim/Aeducan is my favorite pairing to read for DA:O -R


	2. United we Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To her cousins she was part big sister, part folk hero. Soris and Shianni love thier messy, angry, protective cousin.

               Sylvia Tabris was exceptionally good at sneaking (shems tended to call it skulking, but no one cared what shems thought anyway). At the tender age of eight she already knew every creaky step to avoid and which shadowed alcoves would provide protection in the alienage. She was trying to teach Soris too, and though her cousin had the uncanny ability trip over his own feet, he was happy to trail behind two months elder cousin as she led him, more often than not, into trouble. At that very moment they were crouched behind Tabris’ house, under the open window, and listening intently.

“Sylvia” muttered Soris, trying to keep his voice low “we shouldn’t be here.”

“Keep your voice down Sor, it’ll be fine.” came the quiet response.

“We really shouldn’t be spying on your parents ‘Via” he insisted.

“First of all,” she hissed, teeth clenched, “it’s not spying, it’s observing from a distance. Besides, mum and da were being cagey. They practically pushed us outside to play today.”

Soris sighed and resigned himself to his fate. Probably double chores if their current track record for getting caught was any indication. Sylvia always tried to get him out of it, and swore that he would get better at stepping quietly with a little practice. He would rather leave the spying to his cousin, feeling that the chip on her shoulder was big enough for the both of them, but was willing to humor her anyway. There was no telling when it would come in handy.

“She is family, Hahren Valendrian.” came the lilting voice his aunt Adaia, and he stifled a groan, he _knew_ they wouldn’t be allowed to keep sneaking around like this. He felt Sylvia stiffen beside him and felt a pang of sympathy, she’d probably get the worst of the punishment. He leaned into her shoulder and felt the tension bleed out of her slightly. They’d face the punishment together, whether Sylvia wanted to or not.

“I understand that Adaia, but it is her safety that’s in question. And yours.” came the resigned voice of Hahren Valendrian.

“We take care of our own Hahren.” His aunt’s voice was melodious as ever, but he could hear a chord of steel within. It was a tone that Sylvia had yet to master, always siding too close to the side of aggression. Uncle Cyrion was always scared that it would get her into trouble one day, but aunt Adaia always said she’d get better with practice. Her statement didn’t quite make sense though, unless she was telling the Hahren that the parents would discipline their own children? He hoped not, Hahren Valendrian usually went easy on them, Aunt and Uncle, not so much. He shifted his position slightly in order to hear better, careful not to draw undue attention to himself. He tried not to glow in pleasure when Sylvia squeezed his arm in approval, and strained his ears to pick up the voice which had gotten softer.

“- and Sylvia’s cousin as well.” his aunt continued. He must have missed part of the conversation, but he sighed softly anyway. He knew he was going to get dragged into this at some point.

“She has a tendency to act out, but our so does our girl.” said Uncle Cyrion, speaking for the first time. Soris whipped his head around to look at his cousin, who gave him an equally startled look in return, apparently, they were not the ones under discussion.

“She just lost her mother Hahren,” continued his uncle, pragmatically “she needs familiarity right now.” The two eavesdroppers started. Another cousin? They needed to discuss this. Sylvia signalled that they should leave, and they rose in tandem. Unfortunately, they’d forgotten about the window ledge, which they hit simultaneously with a thunderous crack.

They heard a sigh before uncle Cyrion said, rather resignedly “Sylvia. And Soris most likely.”

“Run!” mouthed Sylvia, squaring her shoulders, preparing to take the blame. Before he could protest, or even take a single step, aunt Adaia called out to them.

“Don’t even think about running you two!”

The cousins glanced at each other, trying to gauge whether it was worth disobeying, then pulled themselves up, peering sheepishly through the window. Soris saw that the three adults were trying not to look amused, with varying degrees of success. Clutching uncle Cyrion’s sleeve, as far away as possible from Hahren Valendrian was a girl about a year younger than them, watching them with large, wondering eyes. His uncle put his arm around her and said “Children, this is your cousin Shianni. She’ll be staying with us.”

Sylvia nudged him and they shared an excited grin, which quickly disappeared when his aunt cleared her throat.

“Do either of you want to explain why you were sneaking about outside?”

Sylvia opened her mouth to answer and Soris just sighed and resigned himself to double chores for the next week.

***

It took a few months for Shianni to warm up to her cousins. Hahren Valendrian still frightened her, and she missed her mother terribly. Her uncle and aunt weren’t bad, but they weren’t mum. She had often thought, in those early days, about running away, and more than once she had dreamed that her father, whom she was sure was a Dalish hero, would carry her away from this city and take her along on his adventures. It took weeks of quiet patience (Soris) and bright enthusiasm (Sylvia) to get her to finally open up to her cousins, but when she did, she couldn’t imagine being without them. They couldn’t have been more different. Sylvia, her warm brown skin and jet black hair inherited from her mother, was the face and voice of the duo constantly thinking up adventures liking stealing pies from Nessa’s mum or sneaking into Denerim unaccompanied. Soris was a quieter of the two, his pale skin and red hair similar to her own. He had an aura of tranquillity that balanced Sylvia’s brash mannerisms. While he was happy to go along with his cousin’s schemes, he was no push-over (he firmly put his foot down about leaving alienage). The two radiated mischief and mirth, and Shianni had wondered where she fit into the equation.

She found out soon enough, moulding herself in Sylvia’s image and outstripping her cousin in sheer nerve. She’d never had a Soris to temper her restlessness before, but he took to the job with gusto, despite his apparent exasperation at now having two unruly cousins to moderate. The three would fight of course, they weren’t perfect after all, with angry explosions born of childish anger and petulance, and the nagging feeling that they alone were _right_. They would always make up in the end though, with sheepish smiles and muttered apologies. It would leave a stillness in the air, a vague, uneasy tension, until Sylvia would huff, put an arm around both her cousins and pull them to the shade of the Vhenadahl, where she would promptly launch into a story or expound the merits of her latest scheme.

When Sylvia spoke, her eyes would shine, though Shianni couldn’t tell whether it was with ferociousness or anticipation. She tried to walk and talk like her mother, who hung the moon as far as the older girl was concerned. Aunt Adaia would watch Sylvia, her long hair tied in a thick plait, teach them how to climb the few trees scattered around the Alienage or lead them, laughing and shouting, through the streets with such a fond smile that Shianni would feel homesick seeing it. Apparently, Sylvia had more in common with aunt Adaia than just her looks. She also had uncle Cyrion’s steadfastness, though it was hard to see at times. But then they’d be scolded by one of the grown-ups or either Shianni or Soris would stumble, and she’d get the same stubborn and protective glint in her eye that Shianni had seen when her uncle first came to take her home when her mother had died. It was the same glint she saw in them both when Fisa, who was just a year older than Sylvia, went missing. When they saw the girl a week later, clothing torn, stare glassy, and deaf to her mother’s wailing in the centre of the alienage, Sylvia marched up to her mother in the kitchen, knife in hand and demanded that she make her hair short, like Soris’. Aunt Aidaia had teared up, but nodded, chopping through her girl’s plait without hesitation.

“Why’d you do it?” Shianni had whispered that night, while they lay in the dark, sleep refusing to claim them.

“Shems make it hard for all of us, but they make it hardest for girls.” Came the hoarse response.

Shianni hadn’t understood. She wouldn’t for a while yet.

***

They were ten (well Shianni was still nine but she hated the reminder so neither of them brought it up… much) when Aunt Adaia decided it was about time that Sylvia and Soris learned how to fight.  Which of course meant that Shianni, refusing to be left behind in anything, would also learn to fight. Hehren Valendrian was disapproving, but not much. He seemed to have gotten used to the fact that the Tabris family was a bit unorthodox. Soris thought he found it refreshing, though he did his best not to show it. The Hahren had an image to uphold, after all.

Aunt Adaia had pushed all the furniture in the main room of the house against the walls, creating a large empty space. Over the course of the year she taught them how to throw a punch, the proper form, how to keep their knuckles from cracking and their fingers from bruising. She taught them how to fight dirty, how to bite, kick, and pull at hair and ears. Uncle Cyrion would join in sometimes, and acted his role of punching bag with cheerful solemnity. Hahren Valendrian stopped by once or twice, and though he never took part, he watched with interest, and at one point even smiled at Shianni when she brought Soris to the ground. Soris had noticed how Shianni had beamed with pride at the compliment, and did his best to ignore the clenching feeling in his gut when Sylvia clapped her on her shoulder in congratulations, before she made his way towards him.

“You’ll get her next time Sor.”

“Easy for you to say. You never lose.”

“Yeah, but it ain’t-” Sylvia bit back a curse, remembering her mother’s lessons no doubt, and corrected herself carefully “it’s _not_ easy. I almost lost to you last time.”

“Really?” asked Soris eagerly.

“Truly. ‘sides, you were already one fight down, and Shianni’s fresh. You prob’ly woulda gotten her otherwise.”

Soris perked up at that, not noticing his aunt’s approving smile from across the room. If he’d asked, she wouldn’t have been able to tell him whether it was for him or Sylvia.

Soris’ doubts came back full force a year later when Aunt Adaia introduced blades into their training, with careful instructions to keep them hidden but accessible at all times. Shianni and Sylvia took the daggers like ducks to water, but Soris had difficulties. He was a shade too slow, a little to blundering, and a bit too obvious for the daggers to do any good in hands. Meanwhile Sylvia became deadly efficient, and Shianni wasn’t far behind. And then Aunt Adaia got him the sword. He didn’t- still doesn’t- know how she managed to get to get her hands on a sword, let alone get it into the alienage, but Aunt Adaia was wonderful that way. The heavy blade spent most of its time under his bed, being less inconspicuous than daggers, but it felt right in his hands, and when he had successfully managed to slice his way through four thick planks of wood without breaking a sweat, no one clapped louder than his aunt, though his cousins were a close second.

“Do you know why we’re teaching you how to do this?” asked Aunt Adaia one day, gathering the children around the fire after practice.

“To defend ourselves.” Said Sylvia with certainty as she stretched out in front of the warm flames.

“From what?” asked Shianni, with the childish curiosity that she’d never outgrown.

“Shemlin of course.” said Sylvia with certainty. She had a way of speaking that made every word sound like the gospel truth.

“No.” said Aunt Adaia sharply, and the children turned to stare at her, startled. She continued more gently. “Is every elf in the Alienage nice to you?”

“No.” said Soris bitterly. He was quiet, laid back and easy to pick on, and he knew it, or rather experienced it. Just because he let it happen, because he joked about it, didn’t mean it hurt any less. Sylvia caught the tone and glowered, leaning into his shoulder, like they were seven again and she could solve all his problems by her mere presence. Shianni nodded in agreement with Soris’ statement.

“Sor’s right, Elva’s real mean to us!”

A slight against one Tabris was a slight against the entire family. Soris tried to hide his grin. Aunt Adaia didn’t bother, allowing herself a brief smile before continuing.

“It’s the same with shemlin. Some are horrid, in fact most are. But some… well, some will surprise you.” She looked at them seriously, holding Sylvia’s gaze the longest before the girl looked away. “Never draw your blade before you know their intentions for sure. There are good Shemlin in the world.” Her eyes took on a faraway look, like she was remembering something that happened years ago. The look cleared and she shot them a wry smile “Remember children, Talthas only stole from those who deserved it.”

The cousins exchanged a grin at the mention of their beloved hero. Talthas, the beautiful elven rouge who stole from the rich and gave to the poor, was a favourite bed time story when they were younger. Sylvia unsheathed one dagger, admiring the way it gleamed in the dancing light of the fire.

“When I grow up, I’m going to be Talthas.” she said softly, but with as much conviction as she said anything else.

Looking at his cousin, lounging in front of the fire like a contented cat, hair still boyishly short, dagger held casually in her hand, Soris could easily believe it.

***

Shianni was twelve when Aunt Adaia was killed. Sylvia was thirteen. Shianni cried at the funeral, at losing her mother a second a time. Soris sniffled quietly beside her, as unassuming in his grief as he was in everything else. Uncle Cyrion tried to be brave, he really did, but in the end he broke down, huge sobs making his chest heave and fat tears trailing down his cheeks. Sylvia stayed quiet, red rimmed eyes unfocused and glassy, reminding Shianni uncomfortably of the day they’d finally found Fisa. Her cousin was silent throughout the funeral, and throughout the wake. She was silent as friends and neighbors payed their condolences and she was silent as she hugged her father and put him to bed. She was silent as she sat in front of the fire in the main room, Shianni on one side and Soris on the other. They too were silent as they each clasped one of Sylvia’s hands in theirs, leaning into their older cousin in a quiet show of support. Then, and only then did Sylvia cry, great wailing sobs of a little girl who had lost her mother. Shianni and Soris exchanged a frantic look. Sylvia never cried, not even when she fell out of the Vhenadahl during her one disastrous attempt at climbing it. It was like she didn’t allow herself to feel pain. This was a different sort of pain though. Aunt Adaia would have known what to do. She was wonderful. She was gone. The cousins exchanged another look, this one determined. Soris wrapped his arms around Sylvia, and Shianni carded her fingers through her inky hair, short and dishevelled by the day’s events, softly murmuring quiet nonsense. Shianni prepared herself to be there for the rest of the night. Aunt Adaia was gone, but the two of them could be wonderful too.

***

At 19 years old, Soris was getting married. It wasn’t unexpected, and it was probably the best course of action for the both of them, because of course Sylvia was at his side. She had grown to be just as beautiful as Aunt Adaia had been, though she still kept her hair closely cropped, and tougher than nails. Though Uncle Cyrion had tried to dissuade her from her knife training, she was determined to follow in her Mother’s footsteps. However, she still hadn’t managed to get that one tone her mother had wielded so well. The one that sounded like she was being civil, but cutting you down at the same time. She was still too brash. Soris had stayed lanky, jovial, and quiet, but had acquired an air of weariness that came from being kicked about once too often, and certain solidity in his stance that was borne of having cousins who like to compete to see who could pick the richest pocket. Where Sylvia learned to run even faster into danger, he learned how to make the best the best of a bad situation, and how to make the most of the opportunities thrown at him. Somehow or the other, the two had found their future partners from the same Alienage, and honestly, the sensible thing was to have a double wedding.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous though. It was a brand new life for them, and for Sylvia, it would mean life in a brand new Alienage. How would she get on without them? Maker, how on earth was he going to get on without her? He’d grown up with his older cousin, and now she’d be leaving. On top of everything, there were arrogant human nobles running around the Alienage. Arrogant and _angry_ human nobles. Who had gotten a good look at Sylvia, and a good beating from Shianni. He suppressed a groan at the memory of her hitting the young noble with a glass bottle. Sometimes he wondered if his younger cousin would ever grow out of her impulsiveness.

“Worried, Soris?”

He jumped when Sylvia’s voice came from behind him and effected a nonchalant grin “Worried? Me?”

“Yes you! You’re a worrier if I’ve ever met one!” she laughed, and he grinned, in earnest this time. She gave him a soft smile in return. “We’ll be fine Sor, aren’t we always? Besides, I came to tell you the good news!”

“You mean there’s better news than this glorious wedding that will be attended by all and sundry?” he asked wryly.

“Well…” said Sylvia drawing out the word “I think this comes pretty close. Considering that your favourite cousin isn’t leaving the alienage.”

He tried valiantly to squash down his burbling excitement. “Don’t let Shianni hear you call yourself my favourite.” he said, fighting a grin.

“Psh. I had you first.”

Soris really did grin at that, and pulled his cousin into a quick, strong hug before excitedly asking “Why? How?”

“Nelaros thought that with the war eating away at the edges of the country, Denerim would be a lot safer than Highever. He’s been saving up the coin to move here for months.”

“That’s great! Have you told Shianni yet? She’ll be thrilled!”

Sylvia laughed “No not yet. I’m waiting for the opportune moment.”

“And would that moment be when she’s holding something breakable?”

“Now cousin,” said Sylvia, fluttering her eyelashes “would I do that?”

Soris just gave her an unimpressed look in return and she laughed. He rolled his eyes fondly. “What’ll he do here? Nelaros I mean?”

“Well, he was a smithy in Highever, and Wade doesn’t really care who you are, so long as you work.”

Soris looked at her slyly. “You gonna teach him how to fight?”

Sylvia snorted “Are you mad? He wouldn’t have a clue how to use a sword, let alone daggers! Besides,” she modulated her voice into a passible impression of Uncle Cyrion “I wouldn’t want to seem like a troublemaker, now would I?”

Apparently, Uncle had given her the same speech he’d gotten. Soris gave a hearty laugh, and his worries seemed to fade as he did “You’re going to eat him alive.”

***

In hindsight, smashing the bottle over Vaughan’s head, while satisfying, was a terrible idea. Soris was always telling her to think before she acted. If she’d just thought first, she wouldn’t have ruined her cousins’ wedding. Or was it weddings? Shianni fought an absurd giggle at the direction of her thoughts and turned her attention to Sylvia, still unconscious on the floor. Nola’s fervent prayers behind them were beginning to grate on her nerves.

“Stop that!” she grit out at the other girl, before a noise from Sylvia’s direction caught her attention. Thank the Maker, she was stirring. Sylvia blinked blearily at them, and Shianni opened her mouth to apologize. Before she could get out a word her cousin shook her head, very slight, and quirked her lips into a quick smile, red lipstick smeared from rough handling. She was forgiven. A weight lifted from her chest. Now all they had to do was escape. 

“What happened?” asked Sylvia, shaking the grogginess from her head and leaning up on her elbows.

“We were kept here until that _bastard_ is ready for us!” spat Valora, Soris’ betrothed, with more fire than Shianni had expected from her. Nola’s praying got louder, and Shianni sighed in irritation.

“Not this again.”

“We need to get out of here.” said Sylvia, sitting up properly.

“And how exactly are we supposed to do that?” asked Maris, Valora’s bridesmaid, angrily “The door’s locked and we’re not armed!”

Shianni looked at Sylvia questioningly. The older girl raised an eyebrow.

“It’s my wedding day.” she said dryly.

Shianni sighed. “I was carrying mine, but they searched us. They probably threw ‘em away the first chance they got.”

“Threw what away?” asked Valora.

“Daggers.” said the cousins in unison.

Before the conversation could go any further, the door flew open, and the next thing she knew, Nola was dead and she was being separated from her cousin once again. Everything after that was a confusing jumble of voices and pain and tears, used and used until she was thrown on the ground like garbage. And suddenly Vaughan was shrieking about being covered with blood. Or was it someone else being covered in blood? And then she could hear her cousins. Both of them, voices shaking with anger.

“Guards?” Sylvia was saying, amidst dark laughter “we ran your guards through. Cut them to the fucking bone.”

“Except for the ones in the dining hall.” said Soris with forced casualness, spread like thin ice coating his every word. “We poisoned those. Who’s going to suspect a knife-ear with a serving tray?” she could hear the wolf-grin in his voice, and wondered for a moment how anyone could think that Sylvia was the more dangerous of the two.

Vaughan babbled something she couldn’t quite understand, but she caught Sylvia’s answering hiss perfectly.

“Hear that Sor? He wants to pay us to leave him alone, and to leave our girls with him.”

“Well then ‘Via, give him an answer. It’s rude to keep a noble waiting, after all.”

There was a scream, and the next thing she knew, she was being cradled against Sylvia’s chest, enveloped in the familiar scent of elfroot and pine, with Soris standing guard between her and the world.

***

The blood hadn’t stopped thundering in his ears when they reached the Alienage gates. It had started when he saw Sylvia, bound and alone with guards ready to converge on her, and he instinctively used his presence to distract them long enough to slide her the sword. It continued as she cut her bonds and picked the sword, only to pass it back to him, where it would do more good, and it continued as they fought the guards, him with the sword and her with her fists. It got louder as they saw Nelaros fall, his cousin’s scream echoing amid the thundering. It got louder and louder as they fought their way through the castle, picking up a pair of daggers for Sylvia in the midst of the carnage. It was damn near deafening when he saw Shianni in tears by that bastard’s feet. It didn’t stop when they half guided and half carried the girls out of the fort. It didn’t stop when they reached the Alienage’s gates, nor when the elders came forward to collect the girls, Shianni collapsing into Uncle Cyrion’s arms. It was only compounded by the footsteps of the Denerim guard. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sylvia square her shoulders and open her mouth. He closed his eyes and resigned himself to his fate. Death if he was lucky, torture chambers if not. They’d killed a nobleman after all.

“It was me. _Only_ me. I killed him.” Sylvia’s steady voice burst through the monotonous thudding in his ears and he fought not to gape at her. The guard captain squinted suspiciously at her, and she stared determinedly back. Soris peeked at her from the corner of his eye. She stood tall, white wedding dress stained crimson, rust colored stains spotting her arms, her cheeks, around her mouth. He can’t have looked any cleaner. Suddenly he was looking at 8 year old Sylvia, face sticky with mulberry juice, telling Nessa’s mum that yes she was the one who had stolen the pie she had left out to cool, while trying to hide an equally sticky Soris from view.

He opened his mouth to protest, but she stepped on his foot, moving subtly to hide him from the guard captain’s sight. Hahren Valendrian seemed to catch on, moving to his other side to help shield him from view. The guard captain grunted, and prepared to take his cousin from him forever. He sent every prayer he could think of to the Maker because it was the only thing he could do now. And then that human, the one who’d been lurking at the wedding, the one who’d lent him a sword when he’d given his to Nelaros, stepped forward. Dougal or Duncan or whatever his name was started talking about the Right of Conscription , but Soris stopped listening after it was clear Sylvia was safe. She’d still have to leave, but she was a damn sight more likely to come back to them this way.

After the disgruntled guard had marched away, and after Duncan had told her to say her goodbyes, Soris turned to her.

“You’ve always been my hero. Since we were kids. It’s just official now.” He’d ignore the tears in her eyes if she ignored how choked his voice was.

“Shut up Sor.” She replied sniffling.

They trudged back to the house in silence. Sylvia needed to clean up. To pack. To say goodbye. She hugged her father tight as he murmured comfort softly into her ears. Then she took a moment to stand by the fire, Soris and Shianni on either side of her. Shianni pulled her into hug and Soris was afraid she’d never let go, it was so tight.

“Keep my daggers safe for me.” said Sylvia softly, and Shianni let out a choked sob.

“Come back to us, ‘Via” she whispered hoarsely. Sylvia gave a watery smile and squeezed her harder. It was the only reassurance she could give. She turned to Soris.

“Worried, Soris?”

“Worried? Me?” He said without thinking, and fought a hysterical laugh. Was it only a few hours ago they were waiting for their weddings to start? He could tell the same thought was drifting through her head, but she only plastered on a brittle grin.

“We’ll be alright Sor. Aren’t we always?”

He swallowed his unease and let a toothy grin take over his face. The one he had picked up following Sylvia and Shianni through the streets of Denerim, facing down hostile Shem, sneak-thieves, and pick pockets. Shianni called it his wolf-grin, and for the first time, he felt the name was apt. “Give those darkspawn hell, cousin.”

She returned his grin with one of her own, sharper than steel despite its watery edges. “Try and stop me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tabris cousins deserve better god damnit! I love these children so much, protect them. -Styx


End file.
